I came home from studying at Joe’s before Dad arrived home from the office. This was an intentional move on my part. Dad trusts Mr. Yang—we’ve been neighbors for years—but he does not know that Mr. Yang’s two sons now live with him. If he did know, I’m sure I’d get a lecture faster than you can sayinverse hyperbolic functions.
Oh yes, that’s right. I retained some calculus last night. I even stayed up late reviewing on my own in my bedroom. How’s that for priorities, Subwayboy?
I shrug my bag around my shoulder, about to slip out the door, when my dad says, “And don’t forget, if you don’t pass your test, you can’t go to the school festival tonight.” He raises his coffee to his lips. “And no TV for a month.”
Wow, as if I didn’t know this already. Good thing he has no idea I failed yesterday’s pretest.
“Gee, great words of encouragement, Dad. Thank you.”
“Have an amazingdaaaaay!” he singsongs as I leave.
No pressure. I simply have to pass a real calculus test or forgo attending the festival with Joe and Vicky, which is all I’ve been looking forward to since I joined Newspaper Club.
As I tug the door closed, I hear shuffling from behind me. I look over my shoulder and find Oliver locking his apartment, a granola bar clenched between his teeth.
“Good morning,” I blurt, suddenly frazzled in his presence.
“Uh,” he starts, removing the granola bar. “Morning!”
Huh. Polite interaction achieved. Who knew?
Maybe coming clean yesterday did help.
And then I remember—oh crap. The calculus test!
I race to the elevator. “I’m running kind of late,” I say as I smash the Down button.
Oliver saunters over, peering over my shoulder. Why is this the morning the elevator is slower than usual? I keep jamming the button with my palm, as ifthiswill speed up its arrival.
It doesn’t. Lucky me.
Then I realize Oliver is alone.
I toss a glance his way. “Is Joe coming?”
“Nope, he’s already at school.” He raises his eyebrows. “Because you have that test first period.”
With a melodicping, the doors open. Hallelujah! Finally!
“Yeah, I’m aware—that’s why I just said I’m running late—but thanks for the reminder.”
Once we step inside, I hit the Lobby button approximately twenty thousand times. Then, because I am tortured by modern technology, the doors take their sweet time sliding closed.
“You know,” Oliver begins lazily, “that won’t make it go any faster.”
I jerk my hand away from the button. “Right.”
With a low groan, the elevator starts its descent. I tap my foot anxiously, hoping it won’t stop for anyone else so we can get down faster. Oliver eats his granola bar, and I rack my brain for something to say so the silence isn’t awkward.
“So, the festival is tonight,” I say, angling my head so I’m looking at him. “That’ll be fun. You know, because of newspaper and everything.”
Oliver swallows a bite, then says, “Ah, well, only if you pass your test—right?”
“Yes, right.” I swing my shoulder bag off my shoulders and let it thump to the floor, then tug my arms through my blazer. “I know that.”
“So, was Joe a better tutor for you, then?”
I’ve crouched to pick up my bag, and am rising to my full height as our gazes lock. He’s wearing an expression so neutral you might as well call it taupe. He’s not a closed book; he’s a safe that’s welded shut. How am I supposed to answer that?
